Won't Back Down
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: The Winchesters move to Missouri, where Sam attends a grimy, rundown school. All of the students hate him, and the teachers don't care. Sam finds himself stuck in a predicament he may not be able to get out of. Hurt!Sam14 Pissed!Dean18
1. Chapter 1

Sam sat in the passenger seat of his brother's beloved Impala, listening as Dean lightly hummed Metallica. Sam watched the scenery as they drove by, observing all the different varieties of trees; oaks, yews, willows, maple. Sam tried to keep his mind off the day ahead of him and continued to name all the trees they passed. Today was his first day of school, _again_, and was slightly nervous how it would turn out. His brother seemed to be fully aware of this.

"Sammy, it'll be fine. Everyone will love your geeky self."

Sam said nothing as he continued to look out the window. In most cases he didn't feel this anxious about being the new kid in school. He has transferred to different schools so many times he didn't have time to feel intimidated.

The intended school was Ash Grove High School. They had traveled 140 miles to get to Missouri, and it was a bitch. They had stayed a small, rundown motel, and now, here they were, heading to some ungodly school in some ungodly town.

They continued down the road in silence for the next few minutes, Sam being grateful it lasted as long as it had.

"You nervous?"

That didn't last as long as he had hoped.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Stop worrying." Sam suppressed a sigh as he started counting the billboard signs along the road. There were many.

In his peripheral vision, he watched as Dean threw a glance his way. He inwardly sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Dean, I'm fine" Sam said, emphasizing each word carefully.

"Yeah, well I don't believe you, man. You look so tense. You're sure nothing's wrong?"

Sam started counting to ten. He made it to four.

"Dean, I'm fine! Will you get off my back?" Sam paused before starting up again, calm and collected. "Please?" Dean shot Sam another glance.

"All right, but if anything happens-" Dean stopped, holding his thumb and pinky out and pulling it to his ear, holding it up as a phone.

"Dean, I know the drill. Anything happens I call you. I got it." Sam felt Dean's gaze on him. He looked back. "I promise" Sam added hesitantly. Dean nodded, turning his gaze back on the road and started humming lightly once again.

Sam felt relieved as the stress left him, at least partly. He hated promising to Dean; nearly every promise he has made lately has been broken, intentionally or not. He stole a quick glance at Dean. He looked at peace, no signs of paranoia or spitefulness evident on his face. But yet, he never was an open book, was he?

Sam kept his gaze ahead of them as they pulled into Ash Grove High School. It was going to be a long day…he could tell. He heaved one more sigh and got out of the Impala, dragging his backpack along with him. He heard Dean shout him words of encouragement. Sam waved back at him without completely turning around as he walked into the school.

Externally, the school looked mediocre, having a rather pleasant environment surrounding the campus. It felt good outside and he thought all his fears were for not. However, the experience didn't last. He walked into the school, utterly distraught. It seemed as though all the zoo animals came in and rampaged over everything, leaving nothing untouched.

Slight exaggeration, but that's beside the point. Sam hesitated at the entrance, not sure what to do or where to go. Lots of people were gathered as he entered the foyer; some were taking a long drag on their cigarettes, while others played with fire in more than dangerous ways, while one or two even went so far as to cut themselves repeatedly, the blood dripping down their wrists and in between their fingers. Sam tensed, he had never attended a school even close to this level. The walls were covered with dirt and blood, as were the floors. Sam considered someone purposefully throwing all that crap on the wall to tell the new kids "Come at your own risk." Sam shivered.

Sam felt disgusted. What he dictated as teachers walked along in the foyer, not making any move to stop any of them. He felt the sudden urge to walk out the door, back outside, and into an open space. He felt claustrophpbic, though the foyer extended to quite a large extent.

A few of the kids looked up and saw Sam, and other eyes followed, their gaze landing on the kid. He grew tense, and slowly walked forward, avoiding the smokers and emo kids. He kept up his poker face very well; not breaking the ice with some major screw-up of his, which he was quite frequent of doing.

He walked toward the closest adult he could find, just praying on surviving the rest of the day. The adult happened to be the principal. He caught sight of Sam and lead him into his office.

"Hello, Sam. I'm glad you have decided to come. My name's Mr. Chlowski." The man's words sounded forced, as if he felt the urge to leave Sam to fend for himself.

"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm glad to be here" Sam said, also slightly forced, the lie easily passing his lips as he shook Mr. Chlowski's hand.

Mr. Chlowski sat back down and searched his desk for what Sam believed to be his school schedule.

As the principal busied himself he took the time to look around the small office. It definitely didn't pass the test he silently gave the office. However, if you compared the office with the foyer then the office would definitely be the preferred area, though it was at least 1/4 it's size. Unlike the foyer, the office was not covered with any blood, which was a good sign. Sam turned his head back to the desk, waiting for the principal to find whatever he was looking for.

The principal reappeared from under his desk to retrieve a manilla folder. He handed it to Sam across the desk rather harshly, sliding it into Sam's hands. Sam looked through it swiftly; it contained his school schedule, the names of all the teachers and what they taught, and, of course, a map of the campus. He looked over the map, trying to locate where he was at the moment.

"That should be everything you need. The teachers will give all the supplies you will need for that particular class" he said, rushing his words, slurring them together. He sounded slightly intoxicated.

Sam gave him a warm smile. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

Sam began walking back toward the door, preparing himself for the ordeal ahead.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go." Sam turned around, just enough to make eye contact with him. "Try to be careful. The students here can be rather...unpleasant, if you know what I mean."

Somehow, even if the man was trying to warn him about the school's occupants, he felt Mr. Chlowski didn't mean one bit of it. He didn't care what happened to Sam. He sensed that as long as the money kept coming, then he was good to go. Sam felt disheartened at the thought. If the principal was this bad, then how bad were the teachers? Better yet, what about the _students_?

Sam gave a sad smile, "I'll do my best, sir", he said before heading back to the door. He opened it, sliding out of the office, and arrived back in the foyer.

Most of the kids had already left and went to class. Four students still lounged around in the foyer, getting nose piercings and tattoos. Sam shook his head with pity. He got the map out of his manilla folder and looked for the room titled "foyer." Once he found that, he looked at his schedule. First period class was English Honors. He looked back at his map, found the English room, Room 102, and headed in the general direction of the room. He had done this too many times to get lost. Just follow the map.


	2. Chapter 2

As he headed toward English class he had passed by several unique, or, per say, _different_, students. One guy with a mohawk passed him, glaring at him suspiciously. Sam reacted indifferently, courageously staring him down as he walked past him. He heard Mohawk Man grunt as he passed but said nothing.

He arrived in front of Room 102, tentatively opening the door and found everyone had been seated. It appeared nobody liked sitting in the front; all the seats in the first row were empty, while everyone else stayed crowded in the back. He glanced down at his sheet, reading that the English teacher's surname was White. She was an grumpy, wrinkly old lady in need of major cosmetics. He could have sworn the bags under her eyes were displayed on her whole face.

Sam succeeded in not staring.

"My name's Sam Trenton. Umm, this is my first period class-"

"I know that you dipshit! Just take a seat!" She wailed. Sam was slightly taken aback by the force of words by such an elderly woman but did as he was told, being left no choice but to sit in the front seat. As Sam was putting his manilla folder in his backpack Mrs. White slammed two English books on his desk, one hardback and the other an easy workbook. Sam jumped as the sound of slamming books vibrated in his ear. Many of the students felt the need to laugh, though, in Sam's opinion, it was _not_ funny.

"Mr. Trenton, I would suggest you open your English book to page 246. You've got a lot of catching up to do." He could feel her hostility as her breath fell on his face. He tried to scoot back in his chair but she just came closer, eyeing him with a level of animosity not even demons possessed.

The malevolence in the woman's eyes made Sam gulp as he watched Mrs. White walk away from his desk, and heading to her own at the front of the class. She picked up the teacher's edition and opened it up. He picked up his own book, trying to keep the attention away from himself by being as low-key as his squeaky chair would allow. He opened up the book to page 246 and found they were on diagramming sentences. He let a small sigh escape his lips, happy this was one subject he didn't have to worry about. He knew how to diagram sentences backwards and forwards.

Mrs. White heard him sigh, glaring at her with a ferocity he had never seen in all his 14 years. He felt a sneeze coming on, but stifled it as much as his body would allow, making it sound like a small squeak. Mrs. White rolled her eyes and turned to the board, writing down problems they had to do for diagramming sentences. Sam got started right away. He realized he had gotten on her bad side fairly quickly, but with a little effort, he could get back into her good graces.

He continued to work diligently for the next twenty minutes of class. After finishing the seventeenth problem a crumpled up paper ball came up from behind him thumped onto his desk. Mrs. White turned her head fiercely back to the class. Sam, being the good liar he was, easily made it look like nothing had happened. She returned her eyes to the papers she was grading, relentlessly scribbling "X's" on the papers.

Sam slowly uncrumpled the paper ball, his gut telling him to leave it alone. Curiousity got the better of him.

He allowed as little noise as possible come out of the mass of paper. She may look like an old fart, but from just the short time he's been here, he knew her ears worked farther better than his.

As he undid the glob of paper he could tell it not going to be a note saying "_Welcome to Ash Grove_". It was more that of "_Die You Bastard_". Once it was as uncrumpled as he could make it, he looked at the contents. There was picture, not remotely similar to Sam, getting shot in the head by an AK-47. Sam's stomach plummeted. The words below the hideous drawing struck him, sending him a wave of sadness and nausea.

It was obvious they didn't want him there.

As he continued reading the note, he realized what a bad choice he and his family had made about allowing him to come here. They had listed all the violent and painful things they were going to do to him throughout the school year. At least, until he cracked.

His wall of steel started to crack, his grief emerging from inside him for everyone to see, as if it was written all over his face. Once again, Sam sighed and crumpled the note up and sat it on the edge of his desk.

He tried to focus on his work but it was getting harder and harder to think straight. Luckily, the bell rang soon after. He ran out the door like a chicken with his head cut off.

Sam passed by second, third, and fourth period with a breeze. Math was one of his many best subjects and felt satisfaction in the fact that he understood every word the teacher, Mr. Aniston, had said. Mr. Aniston, on the other hand, didn't appreciate his aptitude in math. He constantly berated and criticized Sam. Why? Sam sure as hell couldn't answer that question if it cost him his foot.

Third period, World History, was taught by Professor Grant, who also taught to college students in the University of Missouri on the weekends. He was the only decent teacher so far, though he never truly acknowledged Sam. Despite his rather impolite behavior, Sam didn't mind him. He taught History well, even made it a bit interesting.

They did nothing in Biology, his fourth period class. Some of the students threw spitballs at there teacher, Mrs. Ludicre, as she snoozed her life away. He felt repugnance at the sight of a teacher, _sleeping_. He got out his Dean Koontz book and began to read.

That leaves us with fifth period, by far the _worst_ class so far. Withstanding Mrs. White and Mr. Aniston was nothing compared to this.

_P.E._

Luckily he had no uniform, which allowed him to miss his first day of class. But that didn't mean he was off the hook. Oh no, he had to be ready with a uniform by tomorrow, yet it took two weeks for the order to come in.

He should feel down in the dumps since that his grade would be far from great in physical education, but he did not pity himself. All his family's previous hunts have left him at least one physical scar, and they're more than evident. Dressing in the locker room would be a pain, definitely with everyone hating him. His mind played through all the ways they could torture him, but tried to keep him mind off it. As he did, he remembered back to first period. He almost felt his eyes well up as he thought of the note. _Everyone _obviously hated him, including the teachers.

Coach Brian was no different. From the bleachers, Sam watched as he yelled at all the students, treating them all the same with the same vulgar language. Sam could sense however, when he started up P.E. he would be _so _screwed. All the teachers hated him and he wouldn't be any different.


	3. Chapter 3

P.E. ended rather abruptly as Coach Brian yelled for everyone to "get their asses moving and get dressed." Sam watched as all the guys scurried into the locker room, some scared, most indifferent and uncaring. They had probably gotten used to Coach Brian's harsh outlook on life.

Sam got up and decided to get to his sixth period class a few minutes early. He took his manilla folder out of his backpack and looked at the sheet: Lunch.

This could definitely end badly. Without any friends, Sam would aim for an empty table, and if that didn't work then he would just go to the least occupied table.

He couldn't be that hated.

Sam, with his eyes on his map, missed most of the spiteful glowers thrown at him as he walked toward the cafeteria.

Sam found the cafeteria, somehow already full. He looked around the cafeteria, finding no empty tables; every single table had at least six people at the table.

They held eight.

Sam, putting on his stoic expression, walked through the cafeteria, heading to the end of the lunch line. A few guys snorted as Sam came up behind them and turned their heads away irately. Sam shook slightly, but still kept up his demeanor, while, inside, his heart was crumpling into dust. The line moved forward. When he was in reach of the food, he grabbed a plate and slowly added food onto his plate. The food was as ugly and disgusting as the people in this school. There was a fight going on the west side of the cafeteria, both, which Sam guessed were seniors, were sending blows at the other.

When Sam was done gathering his "food" he headed to east side of the cafeteria, the opposite side of the fight. He walked slowly, yet with meaning. He looked for the table with the nicest set of people, but everywhere he looked, they would look at him scornfully, put there backpack on the empty seats, or went so far as to threaten him to stay away.

Sam didn't belong here. He shouldn't be in such an unspeakable and horrendous place. He felt the impulsive need to curl up in a corner and cry. He knew he would never do that, especially in front of all these people, but just the fact that it was him they hated, him they despised.

Sam didn't have any idea where to go. He looked around and swept his eyes over the cafeteria once more. The fight over at the west side was over, one guy standing up victoriously with only a bruise. The other wasn't so lucky; sprawled out on the floor, his nose bleeding furiously, with what looked to be a dislocated shoulder. He was covered with bruises.

Sam studied the victor carefully; his black hair, broad shoulders, and confident stance. Everything. The man was obviously sturdy and well-built. Sam had the feeling next time he would be on the floor, sprawled out, bleeding uncontrollably.

Sam shivered as he thought back on his current dilemma. He continued to look around the cafeteria. His P.E. class had already made their way to the cafeteria and seated themselves. He was left out; the few seats left were covered with backpacks and books, while the rest of them he didn't dare even get near. He felt bile rise to his throat as he realized how alone he felt. He wasn't so hungry anymore.

Sam walked over to the garbage can and threw in his untouched food, letting it mesh with the resist of the crap in there. He left the cafeteria and got out his map, looking for the bathrooms.

He found one not far from the cafeteria and went inside. Making sure all the stalls were empty, he let out a small whimper. He would not allow himself to cry. He wouldn't let them win.

He went into the nearest stall and put the seat down. He sat down on the toilet seat, pulling his legs up to his chest.

His heart ached from all the dejection he has received from this school. Is that how they treat all the new students, or is it just him? He groaned desolately as he realized the "special" treatment was probably for him alone. Did they hate him being different? Did they hate anyone who wasn't suicidal or insane? Did they despise all the people that dressed and acted normal?

With all this loneliness he felt amass inside him, he still ached for Dean. He could make this living hell so much more manageable. He didn't want to deal with this by himself. He needed help. But yet, he didn't want to seem weak. He could picture Dean's face after he told him about his day: rage, hurt, pity.

No, he would not burden Dean with all of this. With Dean's help all he would accomplish was being pitied and getting the school burn down, from top to bottom. The survivors would then be shot down, transfiguring into a crime scene. He could do this without Dean for once. Sam felt as though he was never independent anymore, always going to his brother for help.

Not this time. He was a Winchester.

Sam got off the toilet seat and got out of the stall. The bathroom was still empty as he left the stall. He left the restroom stealthily, mentally preparing himself for his next to classes. 'You're almost done Winchester. You can still get out of this alive.'

He crept out of the bathroom and into the hall, searching for anyone lingering around the vicinity. It was empty. He continued down the hall, remembering his seventh period class: Spanish. He hastily got out his map and looked for Spanish Room 104. He followed the direction indicated on the map, speedily walking down the hall. After two minutes of searching he found the room and stepped inside. Everyone had already been seated, though he didn't remember hearing the lunch bell. He gulped silently as he looked at their teacher. He was Mexican or Port Rican with dark black hair with soft stubble on his chin. His eyes were black, yet not the demon eyes Sam remembered so well. No, he was human, but acting human, he wasn't so sure.

He glanced down at his sheet: Senor Abejundio. He kept his eyes on his new Spanish teacher, not daring to look down. Senor Abejundio had been staring him down ever since he arrived in front of Room 104.

Sam decided to break the silence. "I'm Sam, my schedule said this is my next class?" He said casually, sounding more like a question than an actual statement.

"Yes, it is. You may sit here." Senor Abejundio said, indicating to the seat in front of him. It seemed as if the teacher was giving him a devilish smile as Sam walked over to his seat. Once again, he was left with the front row seat, all the while, everyone behind him was snickering and stifling bursts of laughter. Sam blushed furiously, sensing all that ruckus was about him. Once more, he questioned what was so different about him and them to be treated in such a cruel manner. He was given his books by the Spanish teacher, yet again noticing Senor Abejundio's wicked smile, though still perfectly human. This man was no demon, that was for sure. He, however, like the rest of his teachers, despised him through and through. Did they wish for a different life? Did they think Sam lived in a world so much better than theirs, and portrayed their jealous so lucidly?

Sam wasn't sure what the answer was, but Sam felt that the need to question it was definitely not obligatory.

"Open your books to page 94" he heard Senor Abejundio say, jerking him into reality. He opened his book to the right page number and looked over it thoroughly. It was simple enough. This was only Spanish II, not entirely difficult. He listened to the teacher, his impecable prunciation for all the words made it even more obvious that Spanish was his first language.

As the class crawled on, Sam continued to hear the students behind him. A crumpled up piece of paper hit him in the head, but unlike last time, he ignored it entirely. This sent more masses of paper balls flying towards his head, but he stayed casual. He started counting all the pieces of paper that hit him, giving them points for each body part; one point for each arm, two for the back, and, if they managed to hit him in the back of his head he gave them a whole five points.

He had counted three hundred seventy-five. He couldn't take this anymore. He was a Winchester, not some kid on the street that couldn't take care of themselves. Anger took over, but he kept calm. He would _not_ let this go on.

He slowly turned around to face the back of the class. The paper balls stopped flying as they watched Sam eagerly, waiting for him to finally burst. Sam was very collected as he watched all his classmates. He looked down at one of the crumpled paper balls. One was at his feet, and he picked it up.

"I think you dropped this" he said, holding it out to them.

His classmates sat there, stunned. Some couldn't control their anger as their hands balled up in fists, while most were dumbfounded, jaws dropping as Sam sat there giving the class a smile.

The bell rang, indicating the end of the school day. Sam collected his books and stuffed them all in his backpack, hoping the principal had given him his locker number and combination.

He could not contain his excitement as he left Spanish class. He felt all the eyes of his Spanish class glaring at his back, but he shrugged it off. He had won. He stood up to them. Now they would all leave him alone.

He didn't know how wrong he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!

---by the way, Sam is a freshman

_I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!_

P.S- I do not have a fish

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He was on a mission. He found a small sheet in his manilla folder he had skipped over containing his locker number and the combination. Currently, he is putting in his combination, his locker located on the far side of the building. He opened it on the first try successfully and put most of his books into his locker, deciding to keep some just to look over what they went over in class. Luckily, no one decided to shove him in his locker or spit on him. A small smile grazed his lips.

His keen eyesight watched, keeping himself protected from all sides. To his left there was a couple making out, moaning all the while. Sam tried to block it all out, but it was getting loud. _Really _loud.

He finished up with his locker, only keeping his Biology and Spanish book, and headed toward the entrance of the school.

Today had been a living hell. He couldn't fathom dealing with this every day for a year. Luckily, the family would probably find some random hunt soon so he could leave this living hell. It was old the first day and already the whole school was turned against him. Throughout the day, he noticed there were a few students that looked completely normal, like him; without bodily piercings, big tattoos, insane hair styles, etc. They were treated fine, not laughed at or attacked by paper missiles.

On the bright side, he would finally get to see Dean. He felt a smile creep on his face at the thought of seeing his big brother, though, of course, he would never say it out loud.

He arrived in the foyer, watching as all the freaks and emos did their thing, which included smoking, picking fights, and, of course, Sam's personal favorite, cutting themselves. Sam strayed away from them as he closed the distance between him and the door.

He had almost made it when a big guy blocked his passage. Sam recognized him as the guy who had been fighting in the lunch room, with his jet black hair and tall, confident stance.

He had been the victor of the fight.

Sam silently gulped. The anger in the man's eyes was more than evident. He felt all the heads turn toward him and the man, all of them hoping for a fight.

Sam looked up hesitantly to see him glaring down at him. Sam tried working around the man, but he would just match his steps and appear in front of him every time. Sam gave the man a glare.

"Can you please move?"

The man snorted in reply. "I hear you've been dissin' my girl." The man sneered, sounding like that of an animal. "Nobody messes wit my girl."

He heaved his body on Sam's, toppling over Sam as they both fell to the floor. Sam, crushed in between the floor and the guy, was feeling light-headed as he started see black dots dance around the room. He fought back as hard as he could but, as each punch hit its target, his vision started to blur around the edges. He fought to stay conscious, never surrendering as he heard the crowd around them yelling out "Adam!" in unison. Said Adam continued to punch Sam in the gut, until he finally stopped, and the chanting ceased. Sam squinted, forcing himself look once more at his surroundings. Adam was standing up, looking down on Sam. The whole crowd was laughing and amused, even some of the teachers joined in. Sam felt his eyes get watery, but he would not cry. He couldn't. Crying would be the ultimate doom, further egging on Adam and the rest of the crowd even more. He would be strong. He would not let them win.

He felt pain scorch through every part of his body as we wheezed, his lungs searching for air. He groaned loudly, watching as the crowd slowly disintegrated, until only Adam was left. Adam continued to stare down at Sam. Sam, no longer able to look him in the eye, brought his gaze down to the windows. He searched for the beloved 67' Impala, but it was no where in site. He lay his head back down, depressed. He looked back up at Adam, hurt filling his eyes. Adam sneered angrily, subsequently walking away, leaving Sam unaccompanied.

Sam struggled into a sitting position. Every part of him hurt, physically and emotionally. Where was Dean? Unfallen tears stung his eyes as he looked out the window once more. No sleek, black Impala in sight.

Sam slowly reached his hand over to his right, grasping his backpack. He opened it up, preparing to call Dean. He got his cell out. He flipped it open. He had one missed call. At 3:04 Dean had called and left a text message. Sam opened up the message.

His heart shattered. _Hey Sammy, my baby's goin' to the shop. Sorry, but u gotta walk to the motel. Love ya, Dean._

Sam deflated entirely, letting his tears fall freely now. How was he going too get home now? Hell, he couldn't even stand. He considered calling Dean. That was obviously his only choice, but something was telling him not to. In the back of his head he was considering not telling Dean anything about school, that it would just make him appear weaker. Sam continued to cry as he considered what to do. He attempted standing but his abused legs cried out from the pressure. That made his decision a whole lot easier.

Dignity be damned. He couldn't walk, stand, move, or _not _move without being in pain. He felt his self-respect go down a few levels as he finally came to terms with everything. He was weak. He couldn't even defend himself, stuck up for himself. Dean would have whipped the guy's ass, but Sammy? Oh no, Sammy has to go cry in a little corner, scared out of his wits.

He flipped open his phone and dialed Dean's number. He set the phone to his ear, hissing at the pain of moving his arm.

"Hello?" a voice answered, irked.

"D...Dean?" Sam asked, stumbling with the one-syllable word.

That one syllable was his whole life.

"Sammy?! Sammy is that you?" In the background, Sam heard the shuffling of papers being put away and the heavy sound of footsteps. "Are you at the school?" Dean continued when there was no response.

"Yeah" he managed to croak out. Sam heard him curse as he heard the footsteps get faster, yet still steady, as if he were running.

"Sammy, what happened?" Dean's voice was clearly laced with fear, even anxiety as he raced to his brother's rescue. Sam felt humbled that Dean actually cared about him.

"Some guy…beat me…up." Sam tried to spit it all out but his mind wouldn't let him. His vision was hindered by millions of black dots, all threatening to take him away, to Hell.

"All right Sammy, don't worry, I'm on my way. Are you at the front of the school?"

"…Yeah." He was slowly losing consciousness. He could tell. The little black dots grew in number, as Sam tried fighting them off. He tried swatting them away, vainly attempting to get them away.

Suddenly his body went numb. He no longer felt the physical pain that every breath had gotten him previous. His lungs no longer had the feeling of gasping for air. He felt like he was flying. No more pain. Sam let a small smile escape his lips. He knew he had been beaten mercilessly, but he let it go. All that mattered now was Dean. It must have been days since the beating. His vision was hazy, fuzzy around the edges of his vision. He could no longer see his peripheral view, but he was too happy to focus on one spot long enough anyway.

He was starting to feel drowsy. He rested his eyes, muscles completely lax, as he drifted to sleep on the hard, cold floor/

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon. I really hate it when it takes the author a month for each update so, don't worry, I won't do that!! However, it may be hard updating for the next few days because I have exams next week.

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!

_I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!_

P.S- I do not have a fish =O

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]

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Sam slowly awoke, consciousness bringing him back to the land of the living. He opened his eyes, then shut them quickly, the light too bright to withstand.

Through his eyelids he saw the light had been turned off. He mentally prepared himself as he began tenderly opening his eyes. The dark room was much easier for his eyes to adjust as he sat there on the bed of his family's motel room. At the foot of his bed he saw Dean. There were a myriad of emotions crossing his face as he met Sam's eyes: anger, concern, sadness, fury. There were more, less noticeable emotions but Sam didn't worry about those. Dean looked _concerned_ for his well-being.

How long had he been out?

Dean walked over to Sam unhurriedly, ruffling his hair lightly. "Hey kiddo. How you doing?" Sam prepared himself to talk but nothing would come out. His voice felt hoarse, dry.

Dean sensed this, grabbing the bottle of water on the bedside table. He opened it up, pouring water into Sam's mouth at a healthy pace. Sam took it eagerly, till he started coughing up a fit, gathering too much water at one time.

Dean set the water bottle down and sat on the edge of the bed. "You okay Sammy?"

"Yeah" he said, his voice still sounding hoarse.

"Who did this to you Sammy?" Sam could hear the anger in his voice. It sounded as though he was ready to commit thousands of homicides to get his brother better. Sam could tell he was trying to hide it.

"I…"

"Yeah?" Dean egged Sam on further. He had to know, for the sake of his brother. Sam listened as Dean's desperation grew, begging for the men who did that to him.

"I…I can't tell you."

Dean's face fell. It looked as though he were speechless. "Wh…What?"

"You…You'd kill them." Dean's eyes pooled with salty tears. He absentmindedly rubbed Sam's arm as he looked at him dreadfully.

"Please Sammy….you've…you've gotta tell me who did this to you." Dean's eyes finally let the tears fall. They feel without restraint, rolling down his cheeks and onto the bed.

Sam felt tears of his own fall unheeded on his face as he watched his brother. He was always the stronger of the two, rarely ever crying. Yet, here he was, with only a few tears, and more vulnerable and ever.

Sam continued to cry. He went to hug his brother when he whimpered in pain. The slightest movement hurt, stinging his body mercilessly.

"Sammy? Sammy, are you okay?" Dean looked over Sam, letting his eyes roll over all the injuries his brother sustained.

But at what cost?

Dean shushed his brother, soothing him with words of comfort, none of them he actually believed.

"It's okay Sammy, you'll get better and everything will be fine." He put his hand on top of Sam's head, playing with his hair. It seemed to put Sam in a state of peace, lulling him back into unconsciousness. "We're going to be okay little guy." Dean kissed Sam on his forehead softy, being careful of Sam's frailty.

Dean stiffened as he heard footsteps at the door. He shielded his body over Sam's, placing his right hand over the hilt of his weapon.

The door came unlocked from the outside, revealing a worried John Winchester. Dean relaxed considerably, uncovering a damaged Sam.

"How's he doing?"

"Not so good." He watched his John took off his jacket, throwing it on a rickety, unbalanced chair. John looked over Sam, deciding the bandages were put on properly, and sat down on the other side of the bed.

"Dad…he wouldn't tell me who did this to him" Dean said softly, keeping his eyes on Sam's peaceful form. From his peripheral vision he say John visibly stiffen.

John's hands balled into fists. "Well…then maybe we'll have to find out ourselves." Dean looked up at John swiftly.

"Do you mean…"

"Yes son. We're going to visit that damn school of his, and we're going to make them crawl." Dean watched how his posture, his stance, straightened. Dean thought about his father's words carefully.

John had meant every word.

-----------------------------------

John drove them the whole way to Ash Grove High School, not once stopping as he broke nearly every speed limit in the country.

The school was in clear view as the parked the car, hastily stepping out of the car and heading to the entrance. Neither Dean nor John knew what to expect as they stepped into the school.

They had a look of horror and disgust on their face as they looked around the room. Dean, already seeing this once, managed to keep a semi-normal face, but John, he wasn't so lucky.

John felt himself gag as he got a scope of the foyer. Dirt was covered all over the walls and floor. A big pile of blood was gathered in the center of the room, no one feeling the need to clean it up. And the people…oh god, the people. Their they were, not giving a damn about anything. Some were cutting, enjoying the release they felt as they sliced their wrists open. A group of people were using some kid as a punching bag, continuously beating and pounding on him.

John gagged as he continued watching the scene unfold before him. How could he send his youngest to such a horrid place? The atmosphere smelled of Cuban cigars and marijuana, his nose burning at the sensation. It was _truly _hell on earth. John got the sudden urge to punch someone repeatedly, going on a tantrum, destroying everything and anyone that stood in his way.

Dean had an idea that wasn't so different from his father's.

They stormed through the foyer, their first victim: the principal. They ran into the room quickly deciding there was enough evidence to be the principal's office because, well, it said "Principal's Office" on the door. I mean, that had to be some sort of clue.

They stormed in, not bothering to knock. They looked at the man fiercely, reading on his desk it said "Mr. Chlowski". The walked fast-paced to the front of the desk like they owned the place.

At this point, they pretty much did.

John slammed his hands on the desk. "What the hell is this place?!"

Mr. Chlowski cowered as the two men loomed over him. He cringed away from them, beginning to whimper. "I don't know what you're talking about! Please, just leave me alone!"

"What did they do to my son?"

"I don't know who you're talking about!" The principal began to cry, tears spilling out of his eyes, onto his suit.

"Sam. Sam Winchester" Dean said, not far from a roar. He was beyond pissed. There were no words in the English Dictionary, or any other for that matter, that could describe the emotions playing through his mind. He rammed his hand into a lamp that was on the man's desk, shattering it into thousands of pieces as it hit the floor.

Mr. Chlowski straightened up his back a bit, still crying. It was more than obvious he knew who the young man was talking about.

"Are you asking me who…who beat him up?" he asked, clearly upset, and scared out of his wits.

"Yes" was the simple answer the men replied simultaneously.

"Adam Monretto."

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon. I really hate it when it takes the author a month for each update so, don't worry, I won't do that!! However, it may be hard updating for the next few days because I have exams next week.

---sorry there isn't much Sam in this one, but don't worry, there will be next chapter!!!!

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	6. Chapter 6

HOPE U LIKE IT!!! U MAY WANNA PAY ATTENTION TO DETAILS ON THIS CHAPTER!!!!

------LUV YA!!!!

John and Dean bust out of the principal's office, map in hand, and headed down the east wing of the building. Mr. Chlowski stated Adam was located in room 104 on the far end of the east wing. Dean and John pushed on, nearly out of breath. As they turned the corner, a kid with dark brown, probably black hair was rounding it at the same time, and Dean shoved into the boy, which happened to be completely accidental. He muttered his apologizes as they continued to run. What seemed like forever, they finally arrived at the end of the east wing. They slowed down, looking up at the door's room number. 104: Spanish class with Senor Abejundio.

The two barged in like a they owned the placing, eyeing everyone down suspiciously, as if each individual were a potential suspect. Their eyes were dark, cold, as if hardened by years of anguish,

"May I help you, gentlemen?" Dean and John turned in unison to meet Senor Abejundio's cold glare. They glared right back, more mincingly than ever.

"Yes, we're looking for Adam Mo-"

"As you can see I am in the middle of class. Can this wait?" Anger flared within John furiously, more chaotic than a tornado could ever be. John's hands balled into fists, his nails creating crescent-shaped marks on the palm of his hand.

"I'm afraid it can't. But, I assure you, it will not take long."

Dean listened to the conversation further, finally beginning to understand Senor Abejundio's place in the matter. The man didn't plan on casually handing over the kid. It was like he was egging on his father, daring him to make a move. Senor Abejundio was protecting Adam. Rage ran through Dean's vein. He stepped forward instantly, without any thought or consideration of his actions, and walked up to Senor Abejundio, their faces in close proximity.

His voice was no more than a whisper, which seemed to make it even more menacing than if he were screaming. "Now, luckily, I'm a nice guy. There are two roads you can choose to walk down. One, you hand over Adam, and you walk away unharmed, going through a path of daisies and dandelions. Or we can go with the road less traveled. This would be the one where you get beat shitless because you decide to be an asshole. And trust me, that road right there, has _lots _of booby traps."

Senor Abejundio stood there, stiff, having probab ly seen a ghost, and John stood there, looking coldly at the Spanish teacher. He couldn't have said that better himself. Senor Abejundio looked like he was having trouble breathing. Sweat began to glisten down his forehead as he looked into Dean's eyes. There was pain there. _Lots _of pain. And rage. _Lots_ of rage.

He gulped slightly. "Adam, can you come up to the front, please" he said quietly.

Said Adam stood up slowly, obviously pissed. He was muttering under his breath. Something about "a bitchy Mexican freak." He walked passed the gaping classmates and went to stand in front of John and Dean, running a hand through his dirty blond hair.

"What the hell do you want?"

"We would like to talk with you. _Outside." _Dean didn't have the will to hide his anger. He wanted to torture the kid continuously, never _thinking_ about stopping until every part of him was broken and bloodied. John saw this, Dean's anger being visibly shown to the world. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder, almost feeling his rage come off in waves. John suppressed a shiver.

This kid was beyond pissed.

Sam began to awaken, nearly drifting back to sleep, when everything came crashing down on him. Dean had found him. He had rescued him. He let a small smile grace his lips as he thought about his protective, big brother.

Just recently, he was thinking of how weak he was, and though it is still the the case, Dean didn't seem to care. He saved him anyway, burdened by his baby brother or not. Sam squinted his eyes open, preparing himself for some bright light to appear overhead. The room was dark, the raggy curtains were held over the window, shutting out any sunlight, allowing Sam's eyes to adjust easily, letting him search the room.

There was no sign of Dean or his father.

Maybe he had interpreted his rescue incorrectly. Maybe Dean saved him so he could just ditch him later. It's obvious that he was a nuisance more than anything, but was he _that _bad?

Sam felt salty tears fill his eyes as they crept down his cheeks. They left him. They knew now. They knew how useless he was, abandoning him as easily as eight-month old bologna. Tears continued to fall down his cheeks. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't old enough to work, and he had no money. There was nothing he could do. His family was gone, forever. Sam heard the rumbling of a car as he hard it turn into the parking lot. Sam felt his face do a somersault. They came back for him. He had been wrong. About everything. Instead of tears of pain, tears of joy ran down his face as he prepared to run to greet them. His body heavily protested as he let out a whimper. _Damn. _Sam decided the only thing he could do was wait as the door was being unlocked.

Sam's happiness was suddenly crushed, as he felt like he couldn't breathe. "No." Sam continued to cry as he watch the man step closer to him, a menacing look on his face. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sorry about how short it is!!!!!! it's exam week and i really need to study for my Biology Honors exam!!!! _**SUPER HARD**_!!!! Anyway, i know i'll update after this week. =)

HOPE U REALIZE WHO'S AT SAM'S HOUSE!!!!! if u don't well.....u might want to look back over this chapter!!!!! ------hope u liked it!!!!!

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!**

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

**P.S- I do not have a fish ****=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

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Sam watched as the man stepped closer to him, his hair jet black. His eyes were cold, looking pained from all the world has taken from him.

Adam was back.

Adam Monretto walked threateningly toward him, obviously in no hurry to finish him.

Sam, once again, attempted to get out of the bed. He gasped in pain, but the adrenaline kept him going. He jumped to his feet and ran for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, locking it.

He turned around and saw a small window up above the toilet. He put the lid of the toilet seat down and stood on top of it. He was silently wishing he was small enough to fit inside.

He got on his tiptoes and managed to grab the window sill. He used all the arm strength he had, allowing him to slowly ease up to the window. By now his whole body felt a burning sensation, all the bones in his body sweltering from the pain.

He managed to get up on the window sill without passing out as he heard Adam banging on the door. Sam listened as he would back up, then ram his whole body into the door as it cracked from the pressure. He shivered. The door wouldn't be able to withstand much more of that.

Sam opened up the window with great difficulty, managing to stay up on the window sill with only one hand holding him up. He hissed as he opened it further. The pain was getting worse. Who knows how long he could keep doing this…

Sam slowly squeezed himself out the window. He had almost fully gotten out. Until he saw the ground. Not only was it a three story fall, but there were also broken beer bottles on the floor littered all over the grass.

He felt like he was going to cry. Why was this happening to him? Which sounded better; getting pounded to death by a psycho or jumping off a three-story building on broken bottles? He ached for John and Dean. Why would they leave him here? To die? A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The bathroom door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Adam. Sam, no longer having to choose between the two evils, jumped out the window. He crossed his arms protectively over his head as he fell.

It felt like he was falling forever. However, when he hit ground, he wished he was. There was nothing on his body that didn't hurt. He had bruises everywhere, scratches on his arms and legs from the beer bottles, and to top it all off he had at _least_ two broken ribs. Ignoring the pain, or at least trying, he looked up. Adam was looking out the window, his eyes landing on Sam. He left the window hastily. Sam heard Adam's quick footsteps as he left the bathroom, then out of the motel room. It was a wonder how well you could hear when you're in excruciating pain. He heard Adam walking toward him.

_Shit._

-----------------------------------------------------------

Dean and John led Adam outside of the Room 104, ready to let all their restricted anger finally lash out at their prey. They led him out the east wing door. The irony of it all when they walked out in the rain, the sun no where in sight.

"So, let me ask this again, _what the hell do you want_?" Adam asked. Dean looked fiercely at "Adam". If he says one more thing out of line…

"You got a problem dipshit?" Adam asked, meeting Dean's glare with one of his own. Dean turned around completely and began beating the shit out of him. He was going for another punch in the gut when John got in between the two, holding on to Dean's shoulders, keeping his distance as Dean screamed in rage. "We can take him, Dad! Think about Sammy!"

Realization shone in Adam's eyes. A malicious smile appeared on his pale face. "Oh…It's about _that_. Well, it _was_ a lot of fun. If I had known, I would've let y'all get a few punches in. You should've told me."

Dean attempted another lunge at him, but John kept him from lurching forward, using all his strength to keep him back at a convenient distance.

"Dean. Not now."

Dean finally stopped trying to get Adam's head on a silver platter. John heaved a sigh. If one little comment like that sends Dean into a frenzy, things could get ugly.

John let go of Dean and grabbed Adam by the arm, harshly dragging him toward the forest next to the school, Dean on his heels. He smirked. A bruise was already beginning to appear on Adam's cheek.

They arrived in what was supposed to be the middle of the forest when John stopped.

"Soooo...what's the plan, Doc?" Adam asked. John acted indifferently at the question. Dean stepped up to Adam, their faces inches apart.

"Say _one _more thing. Please, I dare you." At that moment, Dean looked more like a demon than anything else in the world. If words could kill, Adam would be dead ten times over. Dean turned John, who gave a nod. He turned back to Adam, only a little fear shone on his face. This did not please Dean.

He gave Adam his best smirk. "Shall we begin?"

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon, i promise. this is a little depressing though. i love writing this story but i only have 17 reviews =(

oh well, anyway, please review. I'm losing the will to live write now...... **='(**

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts!**

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

**-------------------------**

Dean and John had finished up with the man hours later, leaving him barely recognizable. They had left him in the forest, broken and bloody, and didn't give a shit. They hurt Sammy, so they had to return the favor. As the walked out of the forest, "Adam's" blood all over their clothes, they headed off to the Impala, anxious to get back to Sam. Dean had wanted to finish up quick, but was caught in the moment, making every move slow and painful. Afterward however, he was more than ready to get to Sam.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized they could have handled the situation better. They had left Sam while he was asleep, not even leaving him a note for when he woke up. Dean could see how that could scare the shit out of Sammy, but felt justification in getting revenge on the man that had initially put Sam in the condition he was in now.

He thought about Adam, scrutinizing him. The man's hair had been blonde (note: important detail!), of course, before they had their hands on him. Now it was a mixture of his blonde with _lots_ of red.

Dean sighed in content as he got into the passenger seat of the Impala, which had been parked in front of the school. He had had his revenge, and now it was time to check on Sammy. John was now in the car, revving the engine, thereafter pulling out of the parking lot, heading toward their motel room.

They drove in peace, neither wanting to break the silence and speak what was on their mind. As they both looked at the clock, they realized they had been gone much longer than they had expected, too engulfed with Adam's beating.

Dean's heart began to ache for his brother. He had been _so_ messed up, not one inch of him going untarnished. Bruises everywhere, scratching all along his face and chest, and probably several cracked, if not bruised, ribs. Dean heaved a sigh. He should have known that school was no good. The students were shitty, and the teachers were right there with them. The teachers had done absolutely fucking _nothing_. They evidently left Sam on the floor, and, if he had not called Dean, would probably have died. Dean felt bile rise in his throat, and had to concentrate to bring himself off the subject. Luckily, Sam _had_ called Dean, saving him from certain termination.

Dean was finally aware that they had arrived in front of the motel room minutes ago. John was sitting there, silent, allowing Dean to finish mulling over everything. Dean blushed, cursing himself for being so out of it.

"Time to go." Dean opened up the passenger door. He got out of the Impala, closed the door behind him, and headed toward their room, which was unfortunately on the third story, making the trip even _longer_ to get to Sammy. Nevertheless, he continued up the steps, ever step taking him one step closer to his baby brother. As he moved relentlessly he could see in his peripheral vision his father following him, obviously in the same hurry he was in.

Dean, along with his dad, arrived at the door minutes later and, to their total dismay, saw the door was already ajar. Fear crept into Dean as he ran into the room, the open door allowing him the right of entry he so desperately needed.

He stood in horror as he looked around the shabby room. The covers lying on the bed were crumbled together, as if thrown off the body lying underneath which, in this case, was Sammy. _His _Sammy.

He moved around the room hastily, anger coming off him in waves. John was looking the room over, searching for any hint of a clue.

"Sammy!" Dean said rather loudly. He nearly ran into the bathroom. There was blood splattered over the wall above the toilet, as was the small window, which had been left open.

"Dad, come here!" he screamed as he stood up on the toilet seat. John appeared at the door mere seconds later.

"What'd you find?" he asked hurriedly. The inquiry had been given no response, yet, none was needed.

"What the…Is that Sam's blood?!"

Dean, six-foot-two, was barely tall enough to look outside the small window. When he did, however, he gasped loudly, his heart breaking.

"What?!...Dean, what the hell did you see?!" Dean jumped off the toilet seat, answering his father as he ran out of the motel room, John on his heels.

"Sam's blood was _all_ over the grass out in the back of the motel. There were broken beer bottles littered all over the grass."

Dean listened as his father cursed unbecomingly, barely holding in his own need for the use of explicative. Either his brother randomly decided to jump out a window or, the more logical reason was that he had been doing so as a means of escape.

They raced to the back of the motel room, peering at the blood all over the grass. Looking more closely, they saw a trail of blood leading into a nearby woodland area.

_Here we come Sammy._

--OOOO--

Sam continued his attempt at running for as long as his body would allow. He ran purely on adrenaline as his brain raced to find a solution. He contemplated all the possible outcomes of the current situation, not one of them ending well.

All he could do was distance himself and Adam as much as possible and, right now, the only way to do that was to continue running. That, however, would last mere minutes. He needed a long-term plan, one that allowed him to keep _all_ his limbs.

Sam dragged on, not sure where Adam was at the moment. He remembered seeing him around the corner, walking over to him, his body broken. He had found the initiative to get his aching body off the ground, running into a nearby forest.

He had not stopped ever since then, not once looking back. Now, however, he felt the urge to glance behind him. He needed an idea of where he was. All he had been doing was running blindly, going through each and every route, hoping to lose Adam.

Making his decision, he glimpsed behind him and, seeing nobody, allowing himself to slow down to a halt. His legs felt like jell-o. He fell to his knees, no longer having the ability to move. He felt like a cripple as he rested his head on the grass floor, immobilized for life, completely powerless over his own body. He tried to get up, but his body obviously had other plans. It was unresponsive.

Sam felt like crying when heard footsteps in the distance, slowly creeping toward him. They stopped, then sped back up, ever step leading closer to his immobile form.

Oh god, he was going to die. A single tear dropped without warning down his face as he contemplated his death. This wasn't how he wanted it to end. Not like this. No less, by a _human._

The footsteps stopped when they reached him. He strained to see, squinting his eyes toward the figure kneeling in front of him. The man was holding a shiny object in his hand, but Sam was too gone to differentiate what it was, as if he had departed from his own body.

His already hazy vision was beginning to dim. His eyesight was steadily getting worse, his vision swirling around, the colors all mingling together to form one big blob. His mind had finally begun shutting down, until he was left unconscious.

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I _shall_ update soon. I must also update my 2 other stories: "Kill For You" and "Waiting Hastily". I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked them out!! You might like them!

HOPE U ALL HAD A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**REVIEW OR THE WRATH OF THE FINGER YOU SHALL BEWARE!!!!!!** --Yoda style **=)**


	9. Chapter 9

REMEMBER TO TAKE THE NEW POLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

**-----------------------**

Dean and John urged forward, following the trail of blood.

Dean felt like a black hole was going to engulf him whole. What if this was Sam's blood? What then? A small scratch doesn't allow this much blood to leak out. Sam could be, and probably is, in_ grave _trouble.

They continued following the drips of blood, their conscious going into overdrive as they ran further through the forest. All the possibilities raced through their minds. John instantly decided it was something supernatural until some concrete evidence confirmed otherwise. Dean was more indecisive. What if it was something else? What if it was _human_? However, in their life and job, the possibility of it being supernatural was excruciatingly large.

Dean's curiosity and emotional pain skyrocketed as he heard loud thumps further ahead. It sounded like something was getting hit. _Hard._

John only seemed to run faster as the pounding grew fiercer and more rapidly paced. They ran deep in the forest when they saw the clumps of blood on the ground larger than before, in much larger quantities.

"Shit" Dean whispered, but kept his pace balanced, not once faltering as they raced to Sammy.

Dean's heart stopped as they reached the end of the trail. A kid, _Sammy_, was crumpled on the ground, being repeatedly beaten by a larger, much older man.

Dean seared with rage as he ran impossibly faster toward his victim.

The man turned around, knife in one hand and a club in the other, just in time to see Dean in front of him. He threw punches at the guy's gut. He dropped the club, but still kept a firm grip on his knife. He aimed it at Dean's head furiously, only to have Dean catch it in midair. His arm was strained behind his back, and began screaming in agony.

He kicked out at Dean, successfully making contact with Dean's leg. He swept it out from under him, effectively throwing him to the ground. Dean grunted and swiftly flung his legs at the man's, knocking him to the ground with him.

During Dean's fight, John had efficiently walked around the fight, and ran straight to Sam. He rolled Sam onto his back, fire burning through his veins. He felt bile rise in his throat at the form of his youngest. His face was beaten to a pulp, along with the rest of his body. His bottom lip was busted, blooding leaking profusely out of his mouth and off his chin.

John, unnaturally delicate, unbuttoned Sam's shirt, then stared in horror at the damage that befell his son. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching tightly to Sam's shirt to keep control. Sam had bruises all over his chest, abdomen, and stomach. The purplish bruises varied in size, even color, but they all meant the same thing.

Someone was going to pay.

John, no longer capable of reigning in his anger, decided to join the fight. So far, the winner was definitely Dean. The adrenaline ran through his body, giving him more strength and agility.

John walked over to the fight just as Dean had given the man a nice punch to the face, making him fall to the ground unsubtly. John grinned spitefully as he yanked him up to his feet and through a punch of his own. He fell to the ground yet again, no longer putting up any fight. John checked his pulse as Dean ran over to check on Sammy.

He made his way over to Sam, who was now awake, in plain agony. Dean wanted to cry as he looked Sammy over as he placed himself beside him. He smoothed Sam's hair, knowing that, when in times of need, Sam always found comfort in the simple gesture.

--OOOO--

Sam watched Dean with glazed eyes, his vision ruthlessly blurred. A white hot pain coursed through his body as he made the attempt to sit up. His shoulder felt dislocated, and he could have sworn on the Bible he had at _least _two cracked, if not broken, ribs. A hand was stopping him suddenly, gently urging him back down into his previous laying down position. He complied, even if confused.

He looked at the man sitting next to him, the distortion his eyes were leaving him with left him to ponder who it was. It could be Adam, back for Round 2. Sam tensed as the man moved his hand up to his hair. He watched further as he began to play his hair, ruffling it lightly.

Sam let a small smile grace his lips, recognition evident in his eyes. Dean offered a wider, ever-joyful smile, continuing to play with his hair.

Dean had come back for him.

Sam's smile faltered abruptly as he deliberated Dean's urge to return. Why would he decide to come back? He was weak, useless. There was no logical explanation for him to come back. It didn't make any sense.

_He must feel sorry for you. Pitiful._

Sam's gaze soon began to brighten, his sense of sight becoming clearer. He did a once-over of the place, realizing he was still in the forest. Adam was on the ground, bloodied and broken. He looked at him, sheer bewilderment all over his face. He hadn't landed that many hits on him, if any.

_It must have been John and Dean. They had to clean up your mess. Again._

Sam's face fell. He looked back at Dean. He looked to be in pain, cradling his hand in a protective manner with a cut on his cheek. This was all his fault. If he hadn't have been such a dumbass this would've never happened.

"S..So…" For some reason, his vocal cords felt like they were wound in a knot. His body wouldn't allow him to voice a simple apology.

"What?" Dean asked, leaning in closer to his baby brother.

Sam tried again. "So-Sorry…"

Dean's face held many emotions, but it was the eyes that did him in: anger, comfort, worried, and utterly sad. Sam watched as Dean gritted his teeth, seething in what looked like frustration. _At him._

Sam let his eyes fall, not able to stand the sight of Dean's disappointment. He felt his vision get fuzzy again, but not because of side-effects. He let a single tear roll down his cheek.

"I'm…I'm so..sorry" Sam repeatedly, considerably quieter than he was previously. He felt two pairs of eyes staring at him now, the other pair probably his father.

He felt a hand grab onto his shoulder lightly. Sam hissed from the pain, but made no attempt to move. As a Winchester, he could not, _would not_, cry from pain.

Just heartbreak.

The hand that had rested on his shoulder was gone immediately, and went back to playing with his hair.

"Sam…" Sam _did _looked to his older brother, but was just not yet willing to meet his eyes.

"I-It won't ha-happen…again." Sam made a try at smiling, hoping it looked convincing enough. "Promise." He felt he had said all he could, and made another attempt to sit up. Dean, immediately complied, and helped him up into a sitting position, while John stayed where he was next to Adam's unconscious form.

Once Sam was successfully sitting up, Sam began looking around at the trees, naming all the different types in his head. Sam felt Dean put his fingers under his chin, gently turning his head to face his.

Sam strayed his eyes back to the trees, still allowing his face to be facing Dean's.

"Please…look at me, Sammy."

Sam's bafflement just went up a couple notches. Perplexed, at long last, he looked at Dean. He had silent tears rolling down his cheeks, a sad smile gracing his lips. Sam creased his eyebrows in confusion.

_Why is he crying? He doesn't have anything to be sad about. _

"Sammy, don't ever, _ever, _apologize for something like this. None of this was your fault." Sam kept his eyes locked with Dean's; there was something about them that didn't allow his sight to go astray, to keep him locked in his gaze.

"B…But-"

"Sammy, this isn't your fault." He said again, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "If it's anyone's fault it's mine. Me and Dad weren't looking out for you like we should've."

Sam gasped, his heart filling with joy. He felt tears of his own come into his eyes once again as they began to brim at the corner of his eye. Buoyantly, he smiled that smile of his- the contagious smile where you feel like smiling right along with him no matter the circumstances- as the tears fell freely.

"So…so you don't…hate me?"

Sam watched surprisingly as Dean seemed to crumple into himself, as if in self-loathing. Dean ran a hand through his hair, long past worrying about his injured hand.

Dean seemed to be having a battle with himself. Worry lines showed on his face, making him look years older than 18. He looked up at Sam and smiled a sad smile.

"Of course I don't hate you, Sammy. I could _never_ hate you." As he said this, he stroked Sam's cheek gingerly, being careful for his injuries. Sam smiled brightly.

John finally decided to join in the conversation, and headed toward his sons.

"We need to start heading out. It's getting late and it might take a while to find our way out of this forest."

Dean nodded robotically, as he put one hand on his Sam's back and the other under his knees. With one swift motion, he lifted Sammy into his arms, carrying him bridal style, and began carrying him toward his father. Sam flushed.

What an awkward predicament.

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hope u liked it guys!! **Thought I would end on a good note!!** I realize it's taken me a long time to update for this story....sorry about that!! _Won't happen again!!!!_

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

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	10. Chapter 10

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* * *

It had taken them over an hour to find themselves out of the maze that was the forest. All the trees had looked the same, or at least the pattern did. There had been no focal point to concentrate on in the forest, and, having nothing to look for as a clue, the Winchesters had nothing to go on to supply them with their next move.

Approximately half way through the search for the gorgeous car Sam had fallen asleep, comfortably positioning his head on the nape of Dean's neck. Dean had returned it with a smile, cradling Sam close to his heart.

After finally finding the Impala, with Sam still cradled in Dean's arms, John walked up to it exhaustedly, swinging the door open carelessly and got in, soaked with sweat. Dean, more cautious than John on Sam's behalf, got in warily, slipping Sam's thin frame into the backseat. He scooted in beside him, resting Sam's head in his lap.

So there they were, John driving them back to the motel room, Dean ruffling Sam's hair in a soothing manner. Dean smiled as he looked at the kid. Sam looked so peaceful while he slept, as if he had forgotten all the evil that was the world, and allowed himself to drift into an alternate world, a world without pain and death and unexplainable entities.

Dean's demeanor darkened. Who was the guy in the forest, still lying unconscious on the ground, who may never even get himself _off_ the ground? They already kicked the shit out of who was supposedly Adam. With Adam gone, who had done this? Surely there had been no one else with a grudge against Sam. Did Adam make that guy do this, having some dumbass crony following him around, doing everything asked of him?

Dean stopped his thoughts there, not allowing himself to delve further than was necessary. The two threats on his brother's life were over, and they could get back to being a family.

They could forget about all of this, leave it behind them. They were a family that hunted the supernatural, the dark entities that hid in shadows, watching for the focal point of one's downfall. If the Winchesters could handle those guys, then they could handle this.

Dean continued to tell himself this half-lie for the rest of the drive. Deep down, he didn't think he would ever forget this. Not one day will go by when he doesn't realize this had been his fault this had started in the first place. He should've been there for his baby brother, and now he was left to pick up the pieces.

John drove into the parking lot of the motel, parking it fortunately close to their room. Dean got out of the car, then carefully pulled Sam into his arms, mentally noting that he had been significantly lighter than he used to be.

John entered the motel room they rented for the rest of the week, Dean following shortly after, cradling a sleeping Sam. He set Sam down, gently placing him on the bed closest to the door. He immediately picked up the first-aid kit, leaving John to undress Sam, slowly peeling off the clothes splattered in blood.

Dean kept back all the bile in his throat as he looked at Sammy. _His_ Sammy. He was battered and beaten. Why was it that he was _never_ shown the respect he had deserved since birth? Within the past week, his life had been destroyed, all fragments of life falling into place under the lowest point of Hell. There was no way Sam would trust another human after this. Besides Dean and John, the rest were history, and he couldn't do anything about it. He had brought this upon his baby brother and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Both he and John got to work, Dean doing the stitching needing for Sam's arm, which had been badly scraped, nearly all the flesh completely removed from Sam's forearm.

John worked on the large bruises that covered Sam's entire torso, gently applying apple cider vinegar onto each bruise. He then ran into the kitchen, grabbed a cup, and quickly filled it with cold water. When the water reached the brim of the cup, until it was held together by surface tension alone, he headed back to Sam, pouring it on each bruise, supplying more water to bigger bruises.

Dean would flash the occasional glance toward John, but said nothing until finally his "glances" turned into dumfounded stares into John's brain. John, at long last, turned to Dean, the same confused look on his face.

"What the hell is it, Dean?"

"Why are you putting all that on Sammy?" Dean pointed, and John followed his gaze toward the apple cider vinegar, then the cup of water in John's hand.

"This should resolve the pain and inflammation of the bruises. Apple cider vinegar is often considered an antiseptic and should prevent any resulting bacterial infections."

John went back to applying the water before continuing. "Depending how bad the bruises are, they should heal in four days." The now empty cup was set on the desk placed in between the two beds, having served its purpose.

There was not one scratch on Sam's body that went untouched. Dean applied antibiotics to each flesh wound, making sure _none_ of them were infected. Screw up once, put it behind you. Screw up twice, kick yourself in the ass. _Multiple times._

"We ordering pizza for dinner?"

"Guess so. Can't think of anything else right now." John stuck his hand in his pocket, digging for his cell, as he walked into the kitchen.

Dean plopped onto the bed beside Sam's, not daring to wake him by his weight shifting on the bed. Sam slept peacefully, his long chocolate hair positioned in front of his hair. Dean always enjoyed making fun of Sam's hair, which always resulted in Sam giving him a mean glare and snarky comment. But, in truth, he couldn't imagine Sam any other way. Sam had never been one to want to "fit in with the crowd" on manners such as this. Yes, he wanted to be like regular, _normal_ kids, but not in that sense at all. He kept his hair how he wanted it, and wouldn't let anyone tell him differently.

That was one of the many qualities Dean loved about Sam. He couldn't be swayed. He held firm to his beliefs, not being like wish-washy political leaders that, in truth, no abso-fucking-lutely nothing (most of them, at least).

Dean felt the sudden urge to ruffle Sam's long hair, but resisted the temptation. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him up. The bags under Sam's eyes were a dark blue, indicating just how little Sam has slept in the past few days.

Sam mumbled inaudibly, beginning to wriggle on the bed. Dean got off the other bed, heading over to Sam quietly. He watched Sam intently as his squirming became fiercer, more violent. His words grew louder, more coherent.

Something inside Dean clicked, making him realize Sam was having a _very_ unpleasant nightmare. Dean ran to Sam's side, softly shaking him. He whispered softly to Sam, finally permitting himself to play with Sam's hair.

Sam's eyes snapped open, looking fiercely around the room. Dean winced at the evident fear in Sam's eyes.

"Its okay, Sammy. It was just a nightmare."

Sam's gaze landed on Dean, his heart beating faster with each second passing. His eyes were impossibly large as he stared at Dean, cringing away from him slowly.

Dean felt like his heart had been torn out of his body, snapped in two, then run over by a pick-up truck tenfold. Dean's mind was racing, searching frantically for the logical answer to Sam's expression he so desperately needed. It was evident Sam had had a nightmare, but why would he have it about Dean? Sam may still think he were trapped in the nightmare, not actually _seeing _Dean as Dean, but as the bad guy.

Dean held his hands up defensively, taking a few steady steps back until he reached the bed he had been previously sitting on.

"I'm not going to hurt you Sammy. You can trust me. It's me, Dean."

Sam's stiff body gradually relaxed the tension in his body, his heart rate progressively decreasing. Dean huffed a sigh of relief as Sam saw him for who he really was.

Though Sam still seemed to look a bit unresponsive at seeing Dean, he wasn't _scared_, which was probably the worst thing an older sibling could go through.

Dean watched Sam take one last glance around the room, as if to be utterly sure the nightmare had all been nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Dean hopped behind Sam on the bed. Sam looked behind him to see Dean holding his arms out wide.

Sam seemed to snap out of his trance, smiling lightly. He accepted the invitation, allowing Dean to carefully slide Sam into his lap, being vigilant of his injuries. He cradled Sam into his chest, tousling his hair.

The brotherly love they had seemed to be unconquerable as Dean held Sam tight, allowing Sam to fall asleep in his arms.

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HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!! I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope u enjoyed reading it!!!!! No cliffy, thought I would end on a good note!! I WILL update soon!! =)

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

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	11. Chapter 11

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

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* * *

Sam slowly awoke, the sunlight cutting through the window and into the motel room. He raised an arm above his face, succeeding in blocking most of the sun's harmful rays. The recollections of last night raced through his mind. He had fallen asleep in Dean's lap, but now all he felt were the grungy sheets he lay on. Still groggy from sleep, his hand searched for his brother, coming up empty.

Now fully awake, he looked around the small room, finding Dean seated at a small table, sipping a cup of coffee alongside John, who was also gulping down his black coffee. Dean seemed in a trance, staring at a dark stain on the wall, completely oblivious to Sam's questioning stare. _He probably blames himself. Like he always does._

Sam heaved a sigh as he carefully made his way off the bed. Dean seemed to notice the movement in his peripheral vision. He set his cup down, the coffee spilling out with a splash as he hurriedly threw it on the table. He ran over to Sam protectively.

Sam saw Dean run frantically in his direction and he couldn't help but sigh, a small frown appearing on his lips.

"Dean, I'm fine, seriously."

Dean didn't seem to hear as he eased Sam back onto the bed, tousling his hair playfully. Sam let out a small pout, crossing his hands over his chest. Dean's smile seemed to light the whole room as he sat down on the bed beside him. Sam couldn't help it as a smile of his own grazed his lips. How Dean was able to do that, he would never know.

"How you feelin', Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I'm _fine_, Dean. Stop worrying about me. I swear, you sound like a nagging old lady sometimes."

Sam made yet another attempt to get up off the bed. Dean stood up with him, keeping a safe distance, ready if Sam fell. Sam hissed as he straightened into a standing position, the pain in his joints nearly unbearable. He saw a flash of sadness arise on Dean's face but he ignored it.

An uncomfortable, even gaunche, silence situated itself around the room.

"Damn, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."

Truth be told, he wasn't really hungry, but the silence was too much to bear right now. He wanted to take his mind of the pained eyes Dean held now. It hurt him more than he would like to admit, the sheer _pity_ in his eyes pleading with him.

Dean seemed to jump at the idea, already grabbing his jacket off the bed and meeting up beside Sam. Sam decided against changing clothes, whether he was just too exhausted to do so he wasn't sure. He had just slept for God only knows how long, so why would he be tired?

He shook it off, settling on grabbing his hoodie. The subtle movements nearly made him lose his balance, causing Dean to just about dive for Sam's small waist. Dean kept a firm grip on his waist, keeping him on his feet as he maintained his composure. Once equilibrium was found, he gave Dean a sheepish smile.

"Whoops."

Dean just rolled his eyes melodramatically, before getting a serious look on his face.

"You sure you wanna go? I can just bring something home."

"I'm sure. I just lose my balance. I'm good."

Dean seemed hesitant, but let it go.

"Dad, you coming with?" He asked, turning his head in the direction of the older man. John was now lost in a demonology book, far to in depth it to get a coherent answer. John just waved a hand, dismissing them. Dean nodded. "I'll just get you a Big Mac and soda" he muttered under his breath.

He shrugged on his jacket, and led Sam outside, keeping a hand on his forearm at al times. Though it annoyed Sam to no end, he said nothing.

He slipped into the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean finally being forced to let go of him as he headed to the driver's seat. Sam began pulling on his hoodie as Dean entered the car. Sam's injuries seemed to limit him all the more. Dean pulled the hoodie over his head, much to Sam's dismay. Sam managed to get his arms through the sleeves without assistance, which made him feel an iota bit more independent. Dean cranked up the car and headed out of the parking lot, driving to a nearby Burger King.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the small fast food place as Dean parking the beloved Impala. Before he could move around to Sam's side of the car, he opened the passenger door, inching his way out. By the time Sam was fully out of the car, Dean had appeared, ready to help him. Sam offered a victorious grin, Dean huffing in return.

They walked in silence into Burger King.

Sam began to feel nervous as they stood in line to order. Why was he feeling so nervous all of a sudden? There was nothing to be nervous about; these people were just regular, everyday inhabitants. He was beginning to feel extremely insecure as he watched the people milling around, strolling around rather frantically.

Was one of them out to get him?

It felt like bugs were beginning to go through the cracks in his skin, sliding under his epidermis. He began scratching at his arms furiously, attempting to free himself from these torturous insects.

Two strong hands gripped his own, stopping any further movement. He looked over to where Dean stood, his eyes full of confusion and grief. Anguish took hold of Sam, instantly washing away the bugs and replacing them with knives to the heart. He had been worrying Dean so much lately. He had put him through enough to last a life time, and this is how he repays him? His only brother?

Dean lets go of Sam's small wrists, ushering them over to a nearby table. The inhabitants of the table had to have left recently, for the crumbs on and around the table were ludicrously disgusting. It didn't seem Sam noticed.

"What's wrong, little guy?"

Sam ducked his head from the older man's gaze. He didn't know what to say. In truth, he didn't know himself what was wrong. Were the past events getting to him? Was he going crazy?

The bugs under his skin came back, but he ignored them as well as he could manage, periodically scratching at his arms and neck. He didn't need to worry Dean more than he already had.

Sam began pondering what he was going to say, making sure to say it _right_. A woman passed by their table and Sam noticeably stiffened. She seemed to have a quizzical look on her demeanor as he watched him but said nothing. She passed by them as she reached a group of her friends at a larger table in the back corner.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, his back arching from the reprieve he felt. Wait. What? Why was he feeling hysterical with contentment that the woman went by? He didn't even know her.

Sam's own hysteria was beginning to scare himself.

He backed further into his chair, doing little to reduce himself as a big, burly man walked into the building. The man had shoulder-length, jet-black hair. His face was gruesome, consisting of an eye-brow, nose piercing, and a permanent grimace. He wore a muscle-shirt, which was used for just that. His forearms were big and muscular, the contours of each muscle visibly seen. On his right arm, he had a long tattoo in the shape of a long sword covered in blood.

He entered Sam's now massive bubble, crossing the threshold of his personal space, making the hairs on his neck spring up. What if he wanted to beat Sam up _too_? Dean was strong but he may not even feel the need to stick up for Sam against this extremely well-built man. He could probably smash a fist into the wall, doing so much damage as to shattering the ­_entire_ wall.

"I don't know. It feels like…like I'm afraid of _people_" Sam said, shivering with each word.

Sam had finally answered Dean's question and, by now, Dean had probably already forgotten his own question. He didn't appear perplexed, though, seeing as he probably noticed Sam's phobia for people a while nodded in understanding.

"Do you wanna stay in the car?

The question seemed simple enough, but there was a deep meaning when read between the lines. Dean cared for him, and didn't want to see him hurt. Sam's heart welled with pride, but disappeared almost instantaneously, a sense of shame now filling his gut. He was weak. He couldn't handle something as simple as walking into a building full of _people_. Not demons, _people_.

Dean seemed aware of Sam's inner turmoil. He let him dwell in his thoughts, and stood up. He walked over to a cashier, and ordered a large quantity of food, most of which belonging to Dean. He didn't think Sam would eat much at the moment, but wanted to be fully prepared the moment he got even vaguely famished.

He picked up his food moments later and headed back to their table, seeing Sam in the same state he had left him.

-----O-----

Sam was faintly aware of Dean's absence as he sat, mulling over all his limitations. There were a _lot_.

Why wasn't he more like Dean? The both of them were trained in the same manner growing up, their dad treating them with the same hostility when it came to training. When had it all gone wrong? When had he become the weak, scrawny little kid he was presently? In the past, Dean used to comment on how well he had done in training. Was he saying that to make him feel better, or did he genuinely mean it?

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HOPE U LIKED IT! **Ended **_**VERY**_** abruptly…sorry about that**. didn't have time to finish up that thought but decided to post it anyway. I'll get in next chapter soon. The end is almost near!!

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

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